


A Bathroom Interlude

by YellowMustard



Series: The Collie [3]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Absolutely no plot, Alana & Evan Friendship, Alana is insecure, Boys In Love, But they're like 19 so surely it's not THAT bad, Evan is insecure, F/F, Fluff, Girls in Love, House Party, Humor, Jared is Jared, Listen I just think Evan would be besties with all the girls ok, M/M, One Shot, References to The Collie, Slice of Life, TW: puke, The Squad, Title subject to change?, Underage Drinking, Zoe & Evan Friendship, drunk bonding, soft connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23490934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowMustard/pseuds/YellowMustard
Summary: The music is too loud, and it’s going to wake the neighbors. The neighbors are going to complain; they’re going to knock on the door and call everyone’s parents and even the cops, maybe, and then they’re all going to get into trouble. They’ve all been drinking, and they’re all technically underage, and they’re going to get caught.Do they throw you in jail for underage drinking?Would they all get thrown in jail?(OR: Drunk bonding and new friendships. Part 3 of The Collie!)
Relationships: Alana Beck & Evan Hansen, Alana Beck/Zoe Murphy, Evan Hansen & Zoe Murphy, Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Series: The Collie [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515059
Comments: 32
Kudos: 119





	A Bathroom Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again, AO3!
> 
> This idea hit me out of literally nowhere and I've been going back and forth on it for fucking AGES. Big big big thank you to cecropia for being my beta reader and pushing me not to abandon it because I was BIG TIME thinking of abandoning it. Thanks bae <3 
> 
> Lots of references to The Collie and the Galaxy Girls sequel, Of Braids and Secondary Colors, so I'd suggest reading those first :-) 
> 
> (TW: puking. Should be all good otherwise!)
> 
> Also - I really hope everyone is coping with this current Wild Situation. Be safe, sane, sanitary and kind to each other, and if you are struggling, please send me a message (@theyellowestmustard on tumblr). <3 <3

* * *

The music is too loud.

That’s the first thought.

The music is too loud, and it’s going to wake the neighbors. The neighbors are going to complain; they’re going to knock on the door and call everyone’s parents and even the cops, maybe, and then they’re all going to get into trouble. They’ve all been drinking, and they’re all technically underage, and they’re going to get  _ caught.  _

Do they throw you in jail for underage drinking?

Would they all get thrown in jail?

There’s a paranoid voice that says  _ yes, definitely yes, laws are in place for a reason, why have a law if there’s no consequence for breaking it? _

And there’s a second voice. A  _ lovely _ voice; low like a purring engine, that says  _ oh my god, who the hell  _ _ cares? _

The music is too loud, but honestly? It’s a nice loud. It’s the kind of loud you can feel through your shoes, the kind of loud that makes itself at home in your chest until your heart picks up the pounding of the beat.

Who the hell cares about the neighbors?

When you’re the kind of person who never relaxes, who feels like you’re never  _ allowed  _ to relax…

Surely you’re allowed to let loose for once.

It’s been a good night, is the thing. A  _ great _ night. 

So Voice Number One can get lost. Get outta here, Voice. 

It’s one in the morning, or maybe it’s closer to two. 

Or maybe it’s only just gone midnight?

It’s hard to tell. Who’s to say? Time is a construct, anyway. Time isn’t even real. So it’s...it’s  _ whatever  _ time and everyone, the whole cozy little crew of them; they all seem so  _ happy _ . 

Connor’s drunk. They all are, admittedly, but Connor’s maybe a bit  _ too  _ drunk; he’s standing disconcertingly close to the bonfire, a red solo cup in his hand as he sways tipsily to the music, visibly unsteady on his feet as he gazes into the flames. 

A sharp voice calls his name; Jared, maybe? It’s getting harder to recognize who’s voice is who’s, but it’s distinctly nasal and reedy-sounding, like...like a cartoon duck, or something. 

So probably Jared.

Connor’s head lifts, with some reluctance, in the direction of the voice, and Jared, the cartoon duck, whatever, goes  _ “Step back a little, man.”  _ A slow, silly smile spreads across Connor’s face like he’s heard something funny, but he thankfully does as he’s told, taking a small step back and leaving a much less worrisome amount of space between himself and the fire.

_ “More,”  _ says another voice, distinctly female; delicate and clear like a star in the sky.  _ “Another step, please.” _

Connor takes one more step back. He rolls his eyes as though everyone is being  _ far  _ too paranoid, but the effect is ruined when he stumbles and pitches forward and for a second it looks like he actually  _ is  _ going to fall into the fire, and there’s this in-unison cry of alarm from his audience. He rights himself at the last moment; the solo cup crumpled in a panic-clenched fist and the last few mouthfuls of his vodka-and-coke dripping all over his fingers.

_ “One more,”  _ insists a third, different voice, thready with nerves.  _ “You’re still too close, Connor.” _

Connor sulkily obeys.

_ “Now I’m cold,”  _ he whines, words all slushed together and barely recognizable, and someone replies, but that’s barely recognizable, too.

It’s hard to recognize much of anything, really. Because of the ground moving.

Is the ground moving?

Earthquake, maybe?

No.

No, nobody else seems to have noticed.

It’s just...it’s dizziness.

It’s...unpleasant. 

Nauseating.

Sitting down will help. Sitting down and talking to someone for a bit.

That’ll help.

And she looks around for somewhere to sit, or someone to talk to, and it’s all a bit of a struggle. Someone passes her; someone in too many colors and a hideous clash of prints is heading away from the fire and towards the back door, and she tries to call out but she can’t. 

She feels all muddled. She feels all  _ wrong. _

And then, like the universe just  _ knows, _ suddenly there’s a flushed, kind,  _ familiar  _ face coming into focus, in tiny little increments like a camera lens adjusting. Pressure around one wrist, like a hand enclosing, and--

“Alana? You okay?”

Alana blinks hard to try and clear the fog out of her head, but that only makes her vision swim more.

Everything’s...everything’s  _ moving.  _ Things that have no business moving; the trees and the bonfire and the fence around her backyard.

God, how many drinks has she had? There was the very weak screwdriver she’d mixed for herself, at the start of the night when everyone had arrived. Then the much stronger one Zoe had made for her after that, then the much  _ much  _ stronger one from Jared. Then Jared had cajoled her into a Four Loko, which had been tooth-rottingly sweet, and...and had she done shots with Connor? Why does she have the distinct memory of having done shots with Connor? And then there was also the half-full cup currently in her right hand, and she’s got  _ no  _ idea what the hell’s in that, and--

“Alana?”

Alana forces her bleary eyes up, and Evan Hansen’s concerned face is looking right back at her.

Evan Hansen, her girlfriend’s brother’s boyfriend, who Alana probably knows the least out of all of them, is concerned about her. His face is pink and his eyes are a little glazed over and he’s obviously drunk too, and he’d probably much rather be hanging out with Connor right now, or at least making sure Connor doesn’t fall face-first into the bonfire, and Alana  _ barely even knows Evan _ , but she  _ does  _ know he’s anxious and he’s not good with people he doesn’t know well but he’s still  _ here,  _ he’s noticed that Alana is kind of fading and he’s looking out for her.

Because Alana has people who look out for her, now.

And embarrassingly enough, that thought brings a surge of tears forward; bubbling hotly behind her eyes and in the back of her throat and…

Wait, no.

Not a surge of tears.

Definitely  _ not  _ a surge of tears.

“Gonna be sick--” Alana manages to choke out, clamping a hand over her mouth as she hurtles towards the house as fast as her sudden vertigo will allow.

She’s barely even aware she’s being followed.

She manages to make it to the downstairs toilet before her stomach empties itself, and orange juice tastes absolutely rancid coming back up the other way, which is something Alana had not known before and would’ve been perfectly happy never finding out. Her head spins and her ears ring and the ground is cold and uncomfortable under her legs and everything is Completely Awful because Alana is puking up half a pepperoni pizza, one weak screwdriver, one strong screwdriver, one potentially  _ lethal _ screwdriver, a grape (maybe?) Four Loko, an unknown amount of unknown shots and half a cup worth of [redacted]. 

And, judging from the taste in her mouth, a large chunk of roadkill and half a gallon of pure gasoline.

“Bleughhhh,” Alana informs her bathroom wall, miserably.

She does not expect a reply.

But from right behind her, there’s this barely-there breath of awkward, almost-laughter.

She quickly swivels around to find Evan, standing in the doorway and holding a glass of what looks like water.

Alana has never wanted water so badly in her life.

Evan smiles crookedly, maybe a little uncomfortably; like he's not sure if he's done the wrong thing. He stands stiffly; shoulders pulled up too high - like the burden of social interaction with a New-ish Person is a physical thing bearing down on his spine. 

Alana knows the feeling.

"I, uh. I thought maybe you might--might want a drink? Like, something actually hydrating, not like--not like--"

"Not like Four Loko?" Alana peeps, small and pathetic, and Evan laughs that nervous little gasp-laugh again. Like he’s found something funny, but he’s not sure if he ought to actually fill the space with the noise of a real laugh. Like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. 

"Not like Four Loko," he agrees, extending the glass to her.

Alana chugs the entire glass of water without stopping for breath.

God, water is  _ good.  _ This water in particular. This water might be the goodest thing…

Wait, goodest?

Not right.

Best.

This water might be the best thing Alana's ever tasted.

She should tell Evan that. She should thank him. She's the host of this kind-of-party, and she ought to be polite and hospitable to her guests. 

"This water," Alana says, "is the bestest, goodest thing that I ever...that you ever…"

Nope. Wrong. 

Evan's eyes are bright, and his lips are pursed like he's trying to hold back yet another of his little almost-laughs.

Best to keep it simple.

"Thank you," Alana says. "And sorry. I'm just...I'm trying to be...to be... hospital."

Evan is getting worse at holding his laughter back. His shoulders are shaking. He probably thinks Alana is too drunk to notice, but she does.

"Hospitable?" he offers helpfully.

"Yes, that," says Alana. "Hosp--hopsitable." 

Evan grins. And his shoulders seem to loosen, just a bit.

He's still standing in the doorway.

And Alana is sitting down.

She's not being very hopspitable.

"Would you like to take a seat?" she asks, as courteously as her slurred speech will allow.

Evan’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"On the floor?" 

Alana isn't quite sure how to answer that. She knows she should offer him a real chair, but that would involve standing up, and she's not quite sure her body and brain are willing to cooperate with her on that one. 

"Well... I mean…"

But it turns out Alana doesn't have to offer an excuse, or an explanation, and she doesn't have to stand up, because Evan’s posture relaxes even more and he gives a slight nod of understanding along with a little smile. And then he’s leaning his weight back against the wall and sliding down to the ground, so he’s sitting opposite her, hugging his knees to his chest.

Alana is unbelievably grateful. 

“How are you feeling?” Evan asks gently. “Do you want me to get Zoe?”

_ “No--”  _ Alana yelps, the sound bursting out of her as panic fires through every last one of her synapses. Her heart suddenly feels fit to burst, and her palms are sweating. 

No. Absolutely not.

She doesn’t want Zoe to see her like this. 

It’s only been a few months since that day on the football field. When Zoe had told her she should wear more green. 

A few months has been more than enough time for Alana to get attached. Far,  _ far _ too attached. 

God, with a girl like Zoe Murphy, a few  _ hours _ would be enough.

But a few months is also exactly the amount of time it might take for Zoe Murphy to realize she’s made a mistake. 

And if she sees Alana sloppy-drunk on the floor of a bathroom that smells like orange juice and Four Loko and throw-up…

“No,” mumbles Alana. “No, that’s...I’m okay.”

“Are you, though?” Evan asks. “I mean, like--I’m not trying to like. Be pushy, or--or annoying, or whatever, but. I mean, how much did you even drink?”

Alana doesn’t know the answer.

“Too much,” she admits. “I’m...you can probably guess this just by looking at me, but I’m not really very acc--accust-- _ used  _ to alcohol."

“Yeah, that’s...that’s. I get that. I’m, uh. Kind of not either, honestly? I’ve only had, like, a few beers and I am...I’m  _ drunk _ , so.”

It comes out halting and hesitant, and just a little self-deprecating. But it’s friendly enough, warm and low; like it’s coming from the mouth of a person who actually wants to be in her company.

It’s nice.

Evan’s nice.

“You’re nice,” Alana tells him, and her brain pushes her to elaborate, to keep prattling on like she’s used to doing, but the alcohol in her brain is gluing her throat shut, so she doesn’t.

“Oh,” says Evan, sounding surprised. “I, um. Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” says Alana, because that’s what you’re supposed to say when thanked.

Her head's still spinning a little, but her stomach finally feels settled now that it’s empty, and she’s beginning to come back to herself, bit by bit. Like, she’s still... _ way _ too drunk. But she’s pretty sure she’ll remember this in the morning, at least.

Maybe.

She wants more water, but she’s not sure she trusts her legs enough to stand so she can fill her glass at the sink. She stares longingly at the faucet; just out of reach, and her mouth feels dry and sticky and awful.

Evan follows her line of sight and smiles a little. Wordlessly, he takes the glass from her hand, stands, and fills it to the brim.

Alana drinks.

“You’re nice,” she says again, because it’s true, and Evan does his breathe-laugh thing and shakes his head.

They sit silently on the bathroom floor for a while, Evan picking at his nails while Alana sips her tepid water. It’s almost comfortable, Alana thinks; or maybe that’s just the alcohol talking.

“So,” Evan says after a while. “You, um. You don’t have to answer this but, uh--why no Zoe? Like, why don’t you want--is everything okay? With you guys?”

Alana rushes to answer, and her water goes down the wrong way. She coughs hard, eyes watering, and Evan watches her with alarmed eyes, going, “Shit, are you okay?” until Alana can finally rasp out that she’s fine.

“No, it’s not…” she manages to wheeze through her uncooperative vocal cords. “We’re great. She’s...she’s  _ so  _ great. I just. I’m still trying to impress her, I suppose? It still feels too new, and I don’t want her to...to--”

“Right, yeah,” says Evan, saving her from struggling any further. “I understand that, completely. Like, with Connor. I was the same. For a long time, like...embarrassingly long. I was so scared he was gonna, like. Come to his senses and leave. I’m--sometimes  _ still  _ scared of that, actually…”

Evan goes quiet, and it vaguely registers that they both have the same habit of oversharing; of doing that thing where they start talking and then don’t quite know when and where to stop.

“Sorry,” Evan mutters. “That’s...you didn’t ask, just ignore me, I’m--”

_ “Murphys,”  _ Alana blurts out, too loudly for the room they’re in. “ _ Murphys _ , right? They’re just...they’re too  _ perfect.  _ And then it’s  _ scary,  _ right? Because you’re constantly worried you’re not good enough, and that they’re going to get tired of you or realize that you’re not enough, because you’re probably  _ not _ because you’d have to be literally a perfect human being to be good enough for  _ Zoe Murphy.” _

Evan looks at her strangely for a moment, and Alana is struck with the fear that she’s done it again - she’s said way too much, or sounded too...too  _ highly-strung _ , and she's drunk and Evan's nice, she’s decided she likes Evan, and--

And Evan begins to laugh.

An  _ actual _ laugh, not the anxious little breaths from before. Like... a full-on belly laugh.

“ _ Murphys _ ,” he agrees, grinning widely. “If you--if you replace the ‘Zoe’ with a ‘Connor’, I would swear you’d like...read my therapy assignments or something.”

_ “Right?”  _ Alana finds herself repeating emphatically, and she’s laughing, too. “Stupid, genetically perfect  _ Murphys _ .” 

They giggle drunkenly at each other for a while, legs sprawled across Alana’s bathroom floor, and Alana feels an unfamiliar sense of camaraderie that she’s never felt before; a strange feeling of trust with this socially awkward, drunk boy who is her girlfriend’s brother’s boyfriend, who she once cornered in the hallway to ramble about her grandmother’s broken hip. 

And it’s that sense of camaraderie, of tipsy companionship that prompts her to raise her water glass in a toast. 

“To Murphys,” she proclaims, perhaps a little too theatrically. “May they never realize how inadequate we are.”

Evan cracks up. He doesn’t have a drink to toast with, but he gives her glass a little fist bump, and that’s close enough.

“To Murphys,” he concurs.

It feels good to have made somebody laugh.

Zoe says she’s funny, but Alana’s never really been known for her sense of humor, and she’s pretty sure Zoe’s just saying that to be nice.

“I just…” Alana drawls aimlessly, lost in her thoughts of Zoe Murphy. “I just love that girl  _ so much,  _ Evan.”

“Same,” Evan says. “Except...I don’t think I quite love her the way that you do.”

“Better not,” Alana finds herself saying. “My dads made me do karate as a kid. I’m a green belt.”

“Is that...good?”

Alana does her best to remember the order the belts go in, but it’s lost in the depths of her memory.

“I’m not sure,” she admits, feeling herself catching the giggles once more.

“Wait,” says Evan, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Wait, are you like--did you just  _ threaten  _ me?”

“Yes,” Alana says, without a hint of hesitation.

“That’s like--that’s not very hospital of you, Alana.”

And then they’re both losing it, teary-eyed and barely any air in their lungs. Alana gasps for breath, and she’s not sure why this is so damn funny but it  _ is _ , and Evan’s laughing just as much, right along with her. 

“Shut  _ up _ ,” Alana squawks, and she’s sure she’ll kick herself for being so rude in the morning. “Shut up shut up shut _ up,  _ you know what I  _ meant.”  _

Hops…

Hosp…

Hotispable.

Yes, that’s it. Hotispable. Alana’s  _ sure  _ that’s it. 

But she keeps it in her head. Just in case. 

“Okay,” Evan finally manages, once he’s managed to stem the giggles a little. “Okay, but I  _ do  _ feel exactly the same way about--about  _ Connor _ , though. He’s just...you know that feeling when a person is just--just  _ everything?  _ Like...I told Zoe once that Connor is like... _ my  _ person. I dunno if that sounds stupid or--or embarrassing or dumb, but. Like. He  _ is _ . He’s the only one, the  _ only  _ one I ever…”

Evan stops, drifts. Takes a minute to collect his thoughts, it seems. He shakes his head, and it lolls around just a little; a reminder of the alcohol in his system.

“I dunno, I just...it feels like, how could I  _ not  _ love him, you know? When he’s...he’s…”

“Intelligent?” offers Alana, and when she blinks she sees Zoe behind her eyelids, just for a second; a foggy image swimming up the surface. “Funny? Charming and charismatic and 75% leg?”

Evan’s face flushes even pinker.

“If I had a drink right now, I’d--I’d definitely drink to that,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Connor and his long-ass legs? Kills me. Don’t even get me started on his cheekbones or we’ll, like. Be here all night.”

_ “God,  _ Zoe’s  _ too.  _ Legs and cheekbones. She ought to be a model, only she’s too smart for that. Not that models  _ can’t _ be smart! It’s just--we used to study together in the library, back when we were just...just  _ acquaintances _ , and I swear she was working a full year ahead in every subject except math.”

“Connor  _ too!”  _ Evan crows with excitement. “Every subject but math. That’s, like...that’s crazy.”

“Okay,” says Alana, a little conspiratorially, shuffling up onto her knees. Her head whirls in protest at the change in position, but she ignores it. She feels safe enough with Evan to know that he’d help her if she were to pass out or something. And besides, this conversation is Very Important. She wonders if this is what it feels like to have a slumber party, like girls do on TV, where everyone huddles together in the dead of night to talk about their crushes.

Alana wouldn’t know. She was never invited to any slumber parties in middle school.

“Okay,” says Alana again, shaking the thought off, because sad, lonely thoughts have  _ no  _ place in Alana’s Drunk Bathroom Slumber Party With Her Girlfriend’s Brother’s Boyfriend. “Okay, I have a question for you. I just--I’d like to know how close our answers are. Favorite physical feature of Connor’s. Go.”

Evan thinks about this for a second, then blushes even harder.

He answers in a low mumble, which wobbles a bit with new laughter.

“I, um. Do I...have to answer?”

It takes Alana’s sluggish brain way too long to interpret what that means. 

“ _ Evan,”  _ she squeals. “Oh my  _ god _ \--”

“You  _ asked!”  _ protests Evan through his giggles. But he does add a semi-apologetic: “Sorry. I’m drunk.”

“Okay, let’s...let’s try a new one,” Alana presses on, doing her best to slough off her embarrassment. “Favorite  _ non-physical  _ trait.”

Evan considers this for a moment, looking down at his knees, his expression becoming decidedly sober despite the fact that he’s clearly  _ not.  _

He smiles softly; introspectively. Then looks back up at Alana like he’s about to reveal some special secret.

“His honesty,” Evan says. “Like...in the way that he’s honest with  _ himself?  _ He never tries to be anything he’s not, he’s just. Himself. Unapologetically. And then that, like...that kinda transfers, I guess? To being honest with  _ me _ ? I dunno if I’m making any sense--”

“Open,” Alana interjects. “He’s raw and honest and open. He’s...he’s  _ sincere.” _

_ “Yeah,” _ Evan says, sounding stupefied; like Alana’s just read his mind. “Yeah, that.  _ Exactly  _ that.”

Alana smiles.

“Zoe, too,” she says. 

They go back and forth like that for a while, rosy-cheeked and wide-eyed and guffawing in disbelief as the list of similarities between their respective Murphys grows and grows. They both flunked gym class last year, and they both love weird facts about outer space. Alana complains about Zoe’s annoying habit of kicking off her shoes when she gets inside and just  _ leaving  _ them wherever they land, sometimes right in the middle of the room, and Evan enthusiastically insists that Connor does the exact same thing. 

They talk about sticky-out ears carefully hidden under long, lovely hair, and chipped nail polish, and the ability to sleep through literally any amount of noise. 

They talk about jawlines and freckles and pretty voices; clear like glass.

And the overall mood in Alana's bathroom brightens and subdues, shifting like the crest of a wave. It changes so rapidly that sometimes it’s hard to keep up, which is almost definitely the fault of the alcohol. Sometimes it’s funny and happy, and sometimes it’s serious. 

And in one such moment of seriousness, Evan goes, “Hey.”

“Hey, you  _ do  _ deserve her, you know?”

And Alana still isn’t sure about that, she’s not convinced, not even when Evan insists that Zoe’s his  _ best friend _ and if he thought Alana wasn’t good enough for her, surely he would say something about it?

“Maybe you wouldn’t, though,” Alana mumbles despondently. “Because you’re  _ nice.” _

“Okay,” says Evan, like he’s changing tack. “Okay, well then...you said...you said Zoe’s  _ smart _ , right? That’s like...that’s definitely a thing you said.”

Yes. True.

“So...so you obviously trust her judgement, then? You trust her not to make dumb choices, yeah?”

Yeah. 

Yes.

“Well, like...she chose  _ you _ . She...you’re her pick. You’re like...the whole reason she wore her hair in a French braid, like...everyday for a month straight. She fucking  _ loves  _ you. She’s fucking smart, and she makes smart choices, and she fucking loves  _ you _ . So that means you fucking deserve her, okay?”

It’s tempting to chastise Evan for cursing.

But Alana’s feeling too emotional for that.

Because she’s never even  _ thought  _ about it that way before, and she’s drunk in a bathroom, and Evan’s such a good guy, and Zoe fucking loves her.

And Alana fucking loves Zoe. 

And...maybe even  _ deserves  _ Zoe.

“Same to you,” Alana manages, a little choked up. “Connor’s...you deserve...you  _ fucking  _ deserve Connor, too.”

Evan grins and nudges her outstretched leg with his foot in a way that’s almost like praise, and she grins right back through her tears, even though the f-bomb had felt foreign and clunky in her mouth, like she’s not quite saying it right.

“Fucking,” she tries again, determined to make it slide out all casual and natural. “Fuck.”

Still feels too rehearsed. Like she’s giving a speech.

“Fuck,” she says once more. “ _ Fuck _ .”

“Evan Hansen, are you being a corrupting influence on my girlfriend?”

A new voice.

Not Evan.

Alana’s favorite voice.

She drags her head up, up, up and there she is, leaning against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised. A faint dusting of freckles and long hair pulled up and sharp cheekbones and pink, full lips.

_ “Fuck,” _ Alana breathes, and it comes out exactly right.

Zoe’s lips pinch together in what seems like amusement, but Alana’s not sure. She redirects her gaze to Evan, and Evan gives her a big, goofy grin.

“Seriously?” Zoe says. “You guys are gone for like, a full hour, and we have no idea where you are, and now you’ve got Alana saying  _ fuck _ ? I’ve never heard Alana say fuck in my  _ life.” _

Evan shrugs. He doesn’t look sorry at all.

“I’m drunk,” he says plainly. 

Zoe rolls her eyes, looking exasperated. 

Which sends an odd, heavy wave of worry right through Alana’s nerves and into her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” she whines, and she feels woozy and strange again, and her head feels fuzzy and a bit not-good, but that doesn’t matter because she’s pretty sure Zoe’s  _ angry _ with her, that’s...that’s what eye-rolling means, right? She doesn’t want that, she doesn’t want Zoe to be angry. “I’m sorry, are you mad at me?”

Zoe’s eyes soften immediately, her brows raising in unmistakable concern. She sinks down to her knees and crawls across the bathroom floor to Alana, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing just a bit too hard. But it’s nice. Grounding.

“Hey,  _ no.  _ Not mad. Just worried about you. I didn't know where you'd gone.”

Alana wriggles closer, paying Evan no mind as she buries her face in Zoe’s neck and lets herself be hugged. 

Zoe smells good.

“Sorry,” Alana mumbles. “Don't like that you were worried. You smell like watermelon. Why do you smell like watermelon?”

Zoe’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, and it bumps Alana’s head around. 

“It’s my perfume,” Zoe tells her. “What were you doing in here?”

What...what  _ was  _ Alana doing in here?

Like...she knows she was talking to Evan, but.

Why was she here in the first place?

“Uh…”

“She, um...wasn’t feeling very well,” Evan pipes up, voice soft and hesitant, like he’s telling a secret he shouldn’t be. “Had a little too much to drink.”

Zoe stills, pulls back. Looks at Alana with big, worried eyes.

“'Lana, oh my  _ god? _ Why didn't you say anything?”

“I just...I didn't want you to…”

Speaking is hard. Alana’s too tired for it, and her mouth is starting to feel just as slack and droopy as her eyes are.

“I...it's okay. Evan took care of me.”

Zoe shoots Evan a grateful look over her shoulder.

"Thank you," Zoe tells him, and Evan shrugs and smiles lazily like it’s no big deal and goes “Of course,” and Evan’s nice.

“Evan’s nice,” Alana tells Zoe, and Zoe laughs and nods.

“He is.”

“Why…” Alana begins to ask, then forgets her question, then remembers it and forgets it and remembers it again, all in quick succession. “Sorry, um...why aren’t  _ you  _ drunk?”

Zoe smirks.

“Oh I am. I just handle my liquor better than you two lightweights. Also, apparently better than--”

Zoe is cut off by a long, barely coherent, whiny groan of  _ “Evaaaaaan--” _ , which gets louder, gets closer, and is quickly accompanied by long, dark limbs stumbling through the doorway - a pale, thin face and long hair half-hidden under a black hoodie with the hood pulled up. 

There is  _ not  _ enough room for Connor Murphy in Alana’s tiny downstairs bathroom, not when the air is already muggy with triple-breathed air and there’s barely an inch of space between them, but he’s clearly determined to make it work and Alana’s not about to tell him no - not when his eyes light up upon seeing Evan, not when his mouth curls into a dimply smile like that.

“Evan,” he slurs, holding onto the wall with one hand to stop himself from falling and reaching one grabby hand in Evan’s direction. “Evan, hey. Hi. Evan.”

Well. At least Alana’s not the drunkest one here.

Evan hauls himself to his feet, grabbing both of Connor’s wrists and pulling him close to steady him. Connor takes great advantage of this, leaning what seems like his entire body weight against Evan as he sinks into his arms and drops his face into his neck.

“Hey,” he mumbles drowsily. “Missed you. Where'd you go?”

Evan smiles and plants his chin on the top of Connor’s head.

“Just in here telling Alana how incredible you are,” he murmurs.

“Pfft. You were not. Hi, ‘Lana.”

Alana’s not doing so well on the talking front at this point, so she offers Connor a half-hearted wave of recognition, and Connor gives her a salute back.

“You good?” he asks, groggily.

“Mm,” Alana says.

And Alana is suddenly struck with the feeling of warmth; of being taken care of. The exact same feeling she used to have as a child, when she’d fall asleep in the car after a long drive and her dad would scoop her up in his arms and carry her inside, and usually she’d secretly be awake but she’d pretend to be sleeping, just because she loved the routine, the ritual of it all; the reminder that there was someone there who would never forget her or leave her behind, someone who would make sure she was tucked safely in bed at the end of every single day. Maybe it’s the Four Loko talking, and or the fact that the bathroom is uncomfortably cramped, or the sound of the music still pounding in Alana’s backyard.

Maybe it’s the fact that she disappeared for a while, and people noticed she was gone.

She feels seen.

She feels  _ known.  _

Connor begins to droop in Evan’s arms, and Evan shifts, hauling one of Connor’s arms over his shoulders and baring his weight.

“You should probably get him home,” Zoe tells Evan. “Don’t you dare drive.”

“We'll Uber. How about Jared? Think he’ll wanna carpool with us?”

“Wait, where even  _ is  _ Jared?”

“Who even  _ cares?”  _ mutters Connor.

And there’s a long, indignant yell of  _ “Woooow, fuckin’  _ _ rude, _ _ ”  _ that makes all four of them jump and makes Evan yelp, because the sound is not only loud, it’s  _ in the room with them _ and Alana knows she’s drunk and all but she’s pretty sure alcohol does not cause auditory hallucinations and  _ what the hell is happening--? _

Zoe flicks back Alana’s shower curtain. 

And in Alana’s bathtub is, has been  _ this entire time _ , a fully-clothed, extremely intoxicated Jared Kleinman.

He looks far,  _ far  _ too pleased with himself, and for a long moment, all the four of them can do is gawk at him in disbelief.

“What,” says Zoe slowly, “are you  _ doing  _ in there?”

“Napping. Well,  _ trying  _ to nap, until you assholes decided to get all live-laugh-love up in here. You all make me sick, honestly.”

“Oh my god,” says Evan suddenly, cheeks darkening. “Oh my god, I made a  _ dick joke.  _ I made a dick joke about--”

“You sure did!” says Jared gleefully.

“Wait, what?” slurs Connor.

“And there’s...absolutely no chance you’re gonna forget about that any time soon?” says Evan.

“Not even the littlest bit of a chance,” Jared agrees, somehow even  _ more  _ gleefully.

The voices all sort of blur away after that. It’s sort of like waking up from a dream; Alana has these fleeting memories, little snippets of audio and visuals but nothing lasting, nothing concrete. She’s pretty sure Evan man-handles Connor to the front door, and she’s pretty sure she hears Jared repeating “Connor’s best physical feature? Uhhhh, do I  _ have  _ to answer?” over and over again. She’s pretty sure she receives goodbye-hugs, but she counts four of them which means one of the boys has hugged her twice by mistake. She’s pretty sure she hears car doors slamming, and someone locking up.

And then it feels like she blinks, and when her eyes open again she’s sprawled flat across her bed wearing only one shoe, and something cool and damp is being swiped across her cheek. She squints up at Zoe in confusion, and Zoe smiles gently back at her. 

“Just a makeup wipe,” Zoe murmurs. “You shouldn’t sleep in foundation, s’not good for your skin.”

And Alana is in love in love in love, she’s in love and Zoe loves her back, and Alana might even deserve her, maybe.

Then Alana’s in warm pajamas, and Zoe’s in a giant t-shirt, and they’re buried in blankets and someone stopped the music and turned off all the lights, and Alana doesn’t even remember that happening.

“When are your dads home tomorrow?” Zoe asks, snuggling into Alana’s side.

“Not until noon or so,” says Alana, clinging to her last remaining shreds of like...awake-ness.

“We'll have time to clean up then,” says Zoe. “Hide the evidence and all that.”

“How bad is it?”

“Not that bad. The boys tossed out a bunch of bottles before they left. Well, Evan did.”

Evan did. Of course Evan did.

"Evan’s my new acquaintance," Alana announces, albeit a little dazedly. "Evan’s good."

"He is good," Zoe agrees. "Evan's awesome. But, like...acquaintance, though? Pretty sure you can call him a friend."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, once you’ve had a long-winded, drunk conversation with someone in a bathroom, you’re like. Best Friends. That's just...drunk people protocol, honestly."

Best Friends.

Alana likes that.

"That's cool," she murmurs. "Evan’s my friend. He’s...good."

Zoe hums softly in agreement.

“And he...he loves Connor a lot. It’s nice. Connor deserves...they  _ both  _ deserve that. To have...that.”

“Yeah,” says Zoe. “Yeah, they really do.”

“And,” Alana continues, apparently unable to stop talking now, despite the heaviness of her eyelids and the warmth settling into all her limbs. “And did you know that you and Connor are...you two are like...practically the same person? You’re like...you’re same-same. So...so maybe if Evan deserves to have Connor, I deserve to have you?”

“You do,” whispers Zoe. “Of  _ course  _ you do. God,  _ I’m  _ the one who doesn’t--”

“Even though you’re perfect,” Alana interrupts. “Even though you’re literally perfect, maybe I still deserve...You know that’s all I...all I talked about? In the...the whole time, in the bathroom. That you’re...perfect Murphy. Murph--Murphect.”

Alana’s quite pleased with her little word-blend. Like a word smoothie. 

Zoe likes smoothies.

“Go to sleep, Alana,” Zoe says good-naturedly, and she kisses Alana’s hair.

“You just...you just don’t believe me...because I’m drunk. But I’ll...I’ll tell you again tomorrow, and then you’ll see.”

And Alana remembers very little after that. The darkness of her bedroom grows darker, and her mind grows dimmer.

And maybe Alana deserves Zoe Murphy, and maybe she doesn’t.

But either way, Alana  _ has _ Zoe Murphy, and for as long as that’s true, Zoe Murphy is going to know how much Alana Beck  _ fucking  _ appreciates her Good Judgement.

Tomorrow.

Alana will tell her again tomorrow. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
